Simple
by Alexis Machine
Summary: Just a little look into Jayne's head. As scary as that is.


"Simple"

This is a story involving characters created by Joss Whedon. These magnificent characters' real story was tragically cut short by those at Fox so they could put on something like "Ethiopian Midget Tossing Contest." It's not my vision, but dudeman, it's a good one.

A look across the mirror from "Sturdy," by Ana, which is one of the best looks at Jayne we've seen... from someone who doesn't have any expectations of him. It's so perfect that I absolutely HAD to look inside that thick skull, just for a minute or two. Totally fast little one-off, written on a break from my philosophy essays. As usual, for Aemilia, my friend, and everyone who enjoys my stuff. It's not good stuff, but I'm glad you like it.

"Well, that one's pretty horrific," he said. I may not be no college professor, nor no fancy pants doctor like some folks, but I do recognize an insult when I hear one. I hear a lot of them. Don't matter. Man needs sexin' just like he needs eating and breathing, or so my pa said, and that's why ma didn't say too much if he scratched his itch on a long haul cross the 'verse, cause she just about did the same at home. Gorram captain's got a high horse he sits on, but I'll know fact-like he'd love to scratch that very same itch with our 'Nara, and she wouldn't mind letting him, I reckon. I don't know. Can't see too much into that girl. Not like this Helen, laying here beside me. I like a simple girl. Knows what she wants and what she needs. Don't know why Mal gets so damned uptight about things... aint like this gal's never heard of sexin' before... hell, if she hasn't then I'd say she's in the gorram wrong line of work.

I aint never been one for pretty words nor flowers nor such. I always believed if a man's gonna be a man then he needs to be a little bit about DOING and not so much about TALKING, even if he is talking about doing something or the other. That's why I like a good whore so much. I'm doing for her, and she's doing for me, and she don't expect nothing but my money like I don't expect nothing but what she offers on her back. It's a fine system, I'll say, and this Helen's a fine woman. Not a whole lot of talking nor sweet nothings said on the pillow--hell, that'd be like quoting poetry at a gorram mule it'd be so lost on me--she just rolled herself under my arm, made a sweet little noise like all women do when they tucker out, and fell to sleep, fingers curled up in my chest-hair, like. I aint thought much of marriage, and I aint thinking of it now, cause there aint many good women, but a man could might get used to this.

Right after we got our business done the first time, Helen said something about my guns, how they was propped all neat up against a wall, shiny, nice and oiled, sitting like sleepy demons in the shadows. Most men let em lay on the floor, by their pants--where had mine got to?--sitting in jizz and piss and sweat and God knows what all else. That aint good for a gun, I'd explained to her, make it rust, lock up, misfire, gum the works up entirely. And what aint good for a gun aint good for a man in my line of work, neither. Helen nodded, said she'd understood--I still don't know if she did or not, at this late date, not at that point--and we went back to rutting, which is why all of us, guns included, were there in the first place, if you look at it, kinda. She was helping pay me to shoot some fellows was out to steal another girl's baby. Aint life a bitch?

We got on right nice, me and that gal, and I even let her shoot Vera, one time. Mal had a one of his crazy assed ideas to let all them girls get to shooting... I didn't say nothing, but to me giving weapons toa bunch a folks never held a gun before and telling them to shoot's like saying, "Hey, y'all tired a living? I got y'all a damned painful way to die fast," but I guess there wasn't much choice. Just me and Mal and Zoe wouldn't of been enough to shoot shit, that day, even if the other side hadn't been much more better with a piece than most of our own. Burgess and his gorram high tech Alliance piece of laser crap. I hate lasers. Well, anyway, I took Helen out on a fine clear morning--aint many other kinds, in the desert--and we took to popping tin cans off a rail. She missed, twice, flinching hard when the rifle kicked in her arms. I took her and steadied her, said, "Hell, girl, how'd you handle me if you can't handle this yangwei little rifle?"

"I'll take anything you give me," she said, "including this hai lone rifle." I liked how her eyes sparkled. They reflected desert sky back at me from a handsome, high boned face. The gun popped again, and again, seven times, and six cans flew off the rail, holes blown clean through them.

I nodded, slapped her bottom, "Not bad, girl. Those'd be some bleeding men, if they wasn't cans. Might wanna stick to your night job, though."

"Load this gun up again," she said, "I wanna shoot some more."

I laid my hands on her waist and smiled, "I got some stuff I wanna do too," I said," but we can't until you're done out here. Aint life just a sorry bitch?"

"It is," she said, "now load me up."

"My pleasure, darling." She got nine out of ten. On her second gorram try. Now that's my kind of woman. I let her shoot Vera, then. Now that's a thing of beauty, fine woman holding the finest damn rifle in the 'Verse. I don't know much about poetry nor art nor nothing like that, but I'll tell you that bout made my pecker fly, right there, seeing her shoot that gorgeous gun, knocking nine of ten to fly.

Then come the imminent violence I'd been so looking forward too. Lots of shooting, but not a whole lot to shoot at, lots of gorram cowboy crap riding in on sorry horses. Only thing major was that machine nest and I took him right out. You should've seen that wang ba dan flip when my slug took him, high in the chest. He turned in the air like a corkscrew, pinwheeling red. It got everywhere, even on that fancy pants Burgess who'd started the whole show. It felt right, somehow, that he did eventually die with another man's blood on him. Well, the machine-bastard struck the ground. Even if my bullet didn't kill him the way he hit dirt did, neck all twisted. Slumped like a rag man and took a long nap, right there in the dust, getting all pulped and nasty by his buddies' hooves. Fight didn't last long. Mal's good looking lay got shot--not 'Nara, thank the Lord, but Nandi, I think her name was. Damn sad thing, too, she seemed as fine a woman as any I've known. We took on off a little bit later, wrapped in silence, backed up by the thrusters' roar. 

We sailed out through the black. I hit my weights, Book behind me, like always, making sure I didn't kill my fool self, struggling with just a little bit too much. Well, I always say, it aint no fun if there aint no danger. We could hear Mal and 'Nara up on the catwalks, fighting cause they'd rather be ruttin', but was too scared to say nothing about it. My mind was still on Helen. Them two could've learned a lot about the way boys and girls do by watching me and her. Well, not really watching. I aint so weird like that, and I'm happy to do my sexing WITHOUT Mr. Mal Reynolds sitting behind me and commentating--though I'd have to say I'd find 'Nara more than welcome. My thoughts trailed all over Helen and on her hands wrapped over mine, right before we blasted off, and her wicked little wink, and her wicked little smirk, and her sweet round ass.

Sorry preacher; this here work-out's done. I'll be in my bunk. 


End file.
